


Waking Up

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Series: дезинформация [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Feels, Clint is still a good bro, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Not Iron Man 3 Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve doubles as a pillow, Tony Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 09:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2264751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Normally, James was an awake or asleep kind of guy, very much the opposite of Tony, who was pretty sure he slept on a spectrum. </p><p>Takes place right after <em><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2158308">Hawkeye</a></em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Up

Normally, James was an awake or asleep kind of guy, very much the opposite of Tony, who was pretty sure he slept on a spectrum. 

There were the drinking jags, which usually ended in blacking out ( _when properly executed_ ), followed by a sort of hazy-not-awake that lasted until he consumed enough coffee to kill a weaker man. This naturally contributed to the bouts of insomnia he suffered; running on a significant sleep deficit made waking up quickly ( _when he finally allowed exhaustion to win out against stubbornness_ ) pretty much physically impossible, unless he was being woken to Assemble ( _capital A assemble only_ ). That at least came with a blast of adrenaline to force an unnaturally awakened state, and usually left him with  _Kickstart My Heart_ stuck in his head for hours on end as a side effect.

So it was a spectrum, yes, a whole stretched taffy continuum: actual sleep; sort of kind of asleep; not really awake, but not really asleep; so awake that he could feel his hair growing; just awake enough to resent the human condition; so on and so forth, shuffle, rinse, repeat, whatever.

James, though, James was _binary_ about sleep—sleeping deeply was 0, terrifyingly alert was 1—and Tony envied him in this regard. He’d actually considered asking JARVIS to begin monitoring James’s sleep in order to provide him with some data visualization on it for comparison, but figured it might be too soon for that sort of thing. Maybe after they’d been together longer he’d try to work it into conversation of an evening, see if James balked at the idea. Tony kind of thought it’d be romantic, presenting someone with a lovely data visualization of their sleep rhythms overlaid with his own, but if Pepper was any indication, he didn’t exactly excel in the romance department.

He’d only actually witnessed James sleeping once, which totally didn’t count, because he’d been in another country at the time, and a StarkPad had been involved. It wasn’t like they were at the sharing a suite stage of things yet, but still, he’d observed James long enough now that he could easily recognize the anomaly he was being presented with.

  1. James was sound asleep on the couch, in the common area;
  2. he was more or less draped over a very concerned looking Steve;
  3. Tony had entered said common area accompanied by an understandable level of noise, and had been speaking to Clint ( _okay, Clint had been talking him out of a full on panic attack_ ) for about five minutes now, and yet James still hadn’t woken up.



“Any idea what triggered it?” 

Tony couldn’t stop staring at James, wanting to run over and shake him awake, demand to know if he was okay. Not the best approach considering the night the guy had had, but the urge was pulling at his nerves much in the way ( _back before he knew better_ ) he used to yank at the fabric of his father’s trousers, a child’s desperate plea for attention.

Clint shrugged, his expression suspiciously hangdog. “We were talking about guns we’ve loved,” he said hesitantly, quickly adding, “but we kind of do that a lot.”

Tony scrubbed a hand through his hair and over his face, trying to calm his jangled nerves. It’d been difficult enough, keeping the panic out of his voice when James had called to let him know about his little rooftop adventure with Clint. He’d managed it, just, by focusing on James, and reassuring him, and if he was suited up by the time the call ended then, well… no surprise there.

The flight back home hadn’t exactly been relaxing, despite JARVIS providing him with a feed of the common area, showing him that James was fine, was with Clint and Steve, was still there, and not smashed to bits at the bottom of the Tower.

A horrible sort of anxiety propelled him along at speeds and trajectories that prompted JARVIS to remind him that it wasn’t exactly worth risking killing himself in order to get home three minutes sooner. Which, sure, great point, he could admit that, but it was hard to fight against the awful sense of urgency pounding in his head and heart, the one that synced up nicely with the _please be okay, please be okay_ chant he had looping through his mind.

Physically being in the same place had helped a bit, but the longer James remained conked out on the couch, oblivious to the conversation and movement around him, the more Tony became convinced that something was horribly wrong, that he wasn’t ever going to wake up again, or he’d wake up and not recognize any of them. 

Or maybe he’d open his eyes and then try to kill them all. James was big on insisting people be ready for him to flip into full on killing machine mode at any given moment, which Tony suspected was the underlying reason for the whole not wanting to share a bed thing.

“I doubt it was that,” Tony finally said, and Clint seemed to slump with relief. Tony shifted his focus off of James long enough to let Clint see the seriousness in his eyes. “Thanks, by the way.”

Clint shrugged, as if to brush it aside, so Tony placed a hand on his shoulder, gave it a squeeze, which at least got him a tight smile, and a nod. “Yeah. Been there, you know.”

“I know.”

“Hey, guys,” Steve whispered, “I think he’s waking up.”

It took all of Tony’s limited self control to keep from hurling himself at the couch, the _please be okay_ chant cranking back up to full volume as he approached cautiously, head tilted a little to the side so he could better observe James’s features, hidden as they were behind the cascade of his hair.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until James was upright, and suddenly looking at him, a world of _vulnerable_ and _hurt_ in his eyes; then it was like the goddamned wormhole all over again, everything going cold and the air rushing out of his lungs, and Tony was going to be so cripplingly disappointed in himself if he broke down and had a panic attack.

“Hey, Pudding Pop,” he somehow managed to spit out, and was exceedingly proud at how normal he sounded.

There was a delay of what felt like a lifetime, but what was in reality probably only a handful of seconds, before James’s eyes focused, and he opened his mouth, and instead of asking who Tony was, or who _he_ was for that matter, or anything awful like that, he said, “About time you got here.”

Tony let out a bark of relieved laughter, shoved his hands into his pockets, and rocked back on his heels, the picture of relaxation. “Hey, I’m a busy man, what can I say.”

“Right,” James drawled, getting up and slowly crossing the distance between them, the smile on his face clearly forced, but there. At least it was there. “Weren’t you debating whether or not to fly to another state for funnel cake when I called?”

“Like I said, _busy_.”

In his peripheral vision, Tony saw a Clint shaped blur rocket past him, but then he was distracted, because he had an armful of James, and _damn_ but that was a relief. There was the rasp of stubble against his neck as James tucked his face in as close as possible, exhaling shakily as Tony wrapped him up in the tightest hug he could manage, and just held on.

Peering over James’s shoulder, Tony spotted Clint heading back into the room, making a beeline for Steve. He leaned over the back of the couch in order to tap Steve on the shoulder, then hooked a thumb in the direction of the elevators. Steve met Tony’s eyes, concern for both of his friends evident. He wanted to stay, obviously, but Tony mouthed, “I got this,” and after a moment Steve nodded, and followed Clint.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, the shaking began, James trying to stay quiet while his tears slid hotly against Tony’s skin, almost ticklish as they worked their way down under his shirt collar.

“Bad one, huh?” 

He felt James nod, but then he was pulling away, out of the embrace. His eyes were red rimmed, but still beautiful, and Tony felt his mouth twist in sympathy as he watched James swallow, and square up his shoulders, his expression shifting into a controlled blankness that reminded Tony of the first time Steve had brought him into the workshop.

“A mother and her kids,” he said, no emotion in his voice. “Two of them, little girls. I left their father to bleed out in the snow, but at least he had the bodies to keep him company.”

Tony knew what James was doing, saw it in every tight line, and tensed muscle. “Hey, depending on when it was, I might have made some cash off of the gun you used.”

James’s eyes narrowed as Tony stepped closer, but instead of hugging him, or kissing him ( _he really wanted to do both_ ), Tony just kept walking, ultimately plopping himself down on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

The moment stretched out, tension ratcheting, but eventually James spun around, irritation evident. “That’s it?”

Tony spread his arms wide, gave a little shrug, and settled back against the couch. “That’s all I got.”

“Kids!” James spat, and at least he’d left behind the disquieting blankness.

“I’m willing to bet more children have died because of me,” Tony countered. “Hey, you know, now that I think of it, I’m pretty sure I remember reading something in your file about brainwashing.” James was pale, his eyes far more desperate than angry now. “I just had my head up my ass, busy living the good life.”

He waited, wanting to see if James would argue with him, but he remained silent, his eyes wild, face partially obscured by his hair. Tony could still make out the clenched jaw, the muscle twitching dangerously there, a match for the fists at his sides.

“I get it, you know,” Tony continued, letting the sadness, and no small measure of seriousness creep into his voice. “Needing to atone, hating yourself. Pushing people away. Sure, you want to be forgiven, but a bigger part of you is desperate to have someone—someone who matters—confirm you really _are_ as worthless as you feel. It’d almost be a relief to hear it, because then you could give up, just…”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying not to think of all the ways he’d almost killed himself over the years. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s just me. This is about _you_. I’ve read your files, James, and there’s nothing in there that’s going to scare me away, so you might as well stop trying.”

For a wild, awful moment, Tony sat there, watching as James’s facade of calm cracked wide open, left him raw, and exposed, and it was hard to witness. It made Tony want to get back in the armor, hunt down every last person who had even the tiniest involvement with the Winter Soldier project, and make them beg for mercy.

Instead, he waited, which was something he sucked at, waited even though he wanted to throw every last penny at James in an attempt to buy him happiness, wanted to throw himself at the man, as if that would fix anything. It made him feel selfish and awful for wanting James to just feel better, because it _should_ hurt, it had to hurt, and there was no other way around the pain. Some things you just had to go right on through.

“Even your parents?” James asked.

The arc reactor felt heavy in Tony’s chest, and he resisted the urge to touch it, knowing it was working just fine. This pain was emotional in origin, something awful and jagged moving through him, so that his voice sounded far away and tinny to his own ears when he managed to get words past his lips.

“You know, in some ways, it’s better?” Tony had to bite his lip for a moment, stop the trembling. “Better than my mom being dead because dear old dad was drunk behind the wheel, at any rate.”

“Stark,” James began, and Tony held a hand up, cut him off.

“Don’t call me that, _Bucky_ ,” he snapped before he could stop himself. James’s eyes were wide with surprise, but he didn’t look away as Tony met his gaze head on. “HYDRA killed my parents. So yeah, even _that_ , James. It didn’t scare me away, it just pissed me off, because…”

“Because?” and James sounded so scared, so alone. It was awful.

“Because I knew it would hurt you. Knowing. Even though it wasn’t your fault.”

“Clint,” James managed, his voice thick with tears, and this time when he straightened his shoulders, it was different. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Clint made me say that tonight. That it wasn’t my fault.”

Tony exhaled raggedly, feeling a strange sort of giddy panic, just happy they were moving away from talk of his father, of his mother. “Good. It _isn’t_.”

James took another step closer, then another, until he was standing in front of Tony, and then sank down to his knees. Unable to help himself, Tony leaned forward, reached for him, brushed his thumbs over James’s cheeks, trying to wipe away some of the tears. James grabbed hold of his wrists, held his hands in place, whispered, “He made me believe it.”

“That’s because it’s the truth,” Tony insisted. 

He wondered if it had been this painful for Pepper and Rhodey over the years, seeing him tear himself to pieces, work himself to exhaustion. What a special sort of combination of awful; guilt, and self loathing, and drinking, _oh my_! The difference was, James was the only victim in the room.

“I think I want my hair cut.”

Tony blinked, his mind racing in several directions at once, until he blurted, “Your hair triggered the flashback?”

James nodded, sighing as Tony brushed the hair back from his face, as if that could somehow make things better. Unable to hold out any longer, he kissed him, although it was on his forehead, then his cheeks, and the stupid, impossibly endearing cleft of his chin. 

James shifted against him, pulling him closer, slotting their mouths together, kissing Tony over, and over again, his body relaxing, breath slowing with each moment that passed, until Tony pulled away, saying, “Yeah, now? Right now? Or, whenever you want, really. Big deal rich guy, and I always forget about haircuts, so Pepper has people pretty much all over the world ready, willing, and able to drop everything in order to accommodate me so I don’t like look a prat in the tabloids. Well, _more_ of a prat than usual.”

“You’re babbling.” James, despite his red rimmed eyes, was smiling, and pulled Tony closer, helped himself to another soft kiss.

“Fine, yes, you win,” Tony agreed. “My point is, say the word, and we’ll go, get it all taken care of. Hey, maybe I’ll get one, too. We can match, it’ll be adorable.”

“I’d never hear the end of it,” James said, standing up and pulling Tony with him.

“Just promise me you won’t let Steve take you,” Tony asked, allowing himself to be led over to the elevators. “Or Clint. Or Thor. Really, anyone other than me.”

“Yes, Antoshka.”

They road to Tony’s floor in silence, James standing closer than necessary, still holding onto Tony’s hand, but it felt like something had changed, like some obstacle had been cleared. Although he felt like he’d just finished a workout in the ring with Steve, and suspected James was somewhat in the same boat, there was a strange, hopeful sort of happiness bubbling in Tony’s chest.

It was still there when they got to his floor, remained intact as James led him to the bedroom, stripped down to his boxers, and climbed into Tony’s bed. And though he was full of nervous energy, and part of him wanted to go hide in the workshop for a while, Tony followed suit, finding himself suddenly cuddling with a former assassin.

“Hey, J, kill the lights, will ya?” James muttered, wrapping himself tighter around Tony as JARVIS did as was asked.

And, somehow, the unfamiliar light feeling in Tony’s chest was still there ( _and, hey, look so was James_ ) when he woke up in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> FEELS. Tony doesn't like getting the "Stark" treatment from "Bucky," no siree! Snuggles, though. He likes those.
> 
> Depending on how the plot bunnies treat me, we may get the haircut next? Dunno. Also, I LOVE YOU ALL! There has been so much love and support coming through the comments, and tumblr, and I thank you for all of it.
> 
> Also, I make no promises as to what will come of it, but always enjoy prompts being thrown my way. If there is something you've been craving, perhaps I can deliver. *eyebrow waggle*


End file.
